For Every Beginning, There is an End
by Nightarcher210
Summary: This is a story about the effect the Joker has on people. It takes place about a year after BB, and features a few OC's, but it isn't a romance. It's rated for a few bad words later on, and some suggestion.
1. Joker's First Trick

**A/N: **This is my first Batman fic. I do have an OC, but there shall be no romance with her. I like romance fine, but I suck at writing it. Angsty darkness is more my thing. Oh yes, this will be dark, very dark…

**Disclaimer: **I disclaim (did I use that right?) that I have absolutely no connection to Batman Begins, Christopher Nolan, DC, or any of those other people. Now, on with the show…

**Chapter 1: Joker's First Trick**

October 31

11:28 pm. Bruce felt numb as he stared at the body on the ground before him. Her brunette hair was matted with her own blood and the filth of the street. He couldn't bring himself to look past her face, past her staring eyes and shocked 'O' of a mouth, to her ripped blouse and splayed legs. Rage, coupled with sorrow, was building a steady knot in his chest; the pain was physical and worse than any blow he'd taken yet as Batman. But he forced it down, into the back of his mind, and replaced it with a cold logic as he knelt and picked up the playing card that rested on her neck. He studied the laughing joker on it briefly before putting it into one of the pockets of his utility belt.

Then, gently, ever so gently, he picked her up. The Tazer that she always carried fell from her limp hand, unused, and clattered to the ground. He stopped and stared at it for a long moment, then dropped to his knees with Rachel still in his arms. He bent over her still form, his shoulders shaking with sobs. Had anyone walked into the alley at that moment, they would have been met by the sight of Gotham's Dark Knight reduced to tears over a single death. He did not look fearsome now, just sad and pathetic. He lifted his head and let out a howl of such pain and rage that rats scattered and dogs began to bark in response.

Eventually, the sobs subsided. No one had seen, no one would know. Bruce couldn't bring her into the hospital; Batman only did that for people who were still alive. Corpses were left for the cops to pick up when they cleared the scene. So he set her back down again and began to straighten her hair and clothes. He couldn't give her the dignity of him taking her in personally, but at least the police wouldn't have to look at her like… like that. Finally, his mouth set in a grim line, he vanished into the shadows. Not a breath stirred in that cold alleyway after he left.

November 1

2:57 am. Jim Gordon felt sick as he looked at the body on the stretcher before him. She had been one of the best assets to Gotham's judicial system, and here she was, unable to defend herself when she needed to most. It was an irony that he'd rather not have to realize. The coroner zipped the body bag closed and pushed the stretcher into his van, then turned to Gordon.

"Well, most likely, it was blunt trauma to the head, but I won't rule out strangulation or a possible spinal dislocation until I can do further analysis," he said tiredly.

"Thanks Art," Gordon ran a hand through his graying hair, "I'm sorry you had to stay out for so long. You can take her in and go home now."

Art nodded, smiled grimly, and got into his van to drive away. Gordon sighed as he watched the retreating headlights, then walked over to his own car, thinking of his wife and daughter. He'd missed reading Barbara a story tonight. Again. He guessed that he'd be missing a lot of stories in the next few weeks, and his little girl was growing up so fast. He wondered if it would be her reading to him at the next story time. He pulled his keys from his pocket and unlocked his door, then turned at a sound behind him. Batman materialized from the darkness, silent and forbidding as always.

"We found her, just like you said," Gordon looked at the masked man, who continued to stand silent and unmoving, "I, uh, I have to get home. My wife, you know…" he stopped, watching for some sign, some indication. Batman nodded, almost imperceptibly, and Gordon breathed a sigh of relief. He felt like he should say something else, something worthy, but nothing came to mind. He only remembered the visit from two hours earlier, remembered how Batman, the symbol that drove fear into the hearts of criminals, had stopped by and told him about the dead body of Rachel Dawes. And his voice had cracked, pitching up from the normal deep rumble that characterized him and sounding, just for a moment, like someone else entirely.

Gordon pulled himself back to the present and met Batman's eyes. He was still unmoving, gazing impassively at the tired lieutenant. Gordon nodded curtly and got into his car. He watched the unnerving stare even as he drove away. Then a column of steam and the cloak of darkness obscured him from view. But Gordon had the feeling that Batman was still watching him, even through the darkness.

4:03 am. Leah Bowden was lying on the couch when her parents came home from their shift at the hospital. They both smiled tiredly at one another at the sight of her. She was still wearing jeans and a sweatshirt from school, her long brown hair in its usual braid. A large book rested on her chest as it rose and fell evenly, and she'd fallen asleep with her glasses still on. Mrs. Bowden removed the book and glasses, setting them on the small coffee table as her husband covered their daughter with a blanket. She stirred slightly, then sat up and put a hand to her face. Her mother handed the glasses back to her and she put them on thankfully.

"Morning, sleepyhead," her dad said softly. He patted her head gently and went to take a shower while mother and daughter talked.

"'S morning?" Leah slurred, glancing at her watch, the uttered a soft, "Oh."

"How long did you wait up for us?" her mom asked.

"Not too long, a few hours maybe…"

"Liar," a smile touched Mrs. Bowden's lips, "I'm sorry we worked so late. This is always a busy night."

"I know. Don't worry about it.

"Alex said to stop by tomorrow, or he'll start spreading rumors about you."

"Tell him I'll drop by after school. I don't want the orderlies getting any ideas."

"No, I don't think your father would like that either," she laughed, but her face grew serious after a moment, "Did you take your medicine today?"

"Yep," she nodded to a small black case on the coffee table. Inside was a line of syringes, each filled with a pale gold liquid. One was missing from the far end, "All properly disposed of."

"Good," Mrs. Bowden bent and kissed her daughter on the forehead, "You have school in a little while. I'll let you get some sleep."

Leah nodded and sunk into the couch, "Sleep sounds like a good idea."

"Glasses," her mother reminded her, reaching for them.

"That sounds like a good idea, too. G'night," she murmured, surrendering the black frames.

"Good night, sweetheart."

**Hello**, I'm back. Now, if she seems too Mary Sue, tell me, I'll kill her and replace her with someone else. No, I'm just kidding. But seriously, I've got a backup Leah all ready to go. You just have to _let me know_. Thanks for bearing with me this far, and please tell me how you feel. If you liked it, review, if you didn't, tell me what you didn't like.


	2. The Suffering Artists

**A/N: **Hello again. I posted this faster than I planned to, just to say that if no one reviews, I won't continue the story. No has said anything so far, and more than fifteen people read it, so if you're reading this again because you liked it, I'd suggest you say something.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Batman. You want something better than that, review.

**Chapter 2: The Suffering Artists**

November 1

9:07 am. The sun had risen a few hours ago, but it was obscured by cloud and rain. It might as well have been night. Leah sat at her desk, doodling on a spare sheet of paper as Mrs. Coyne droned about some sort of parabolic arc or something. She sighed, adjusted her glasses, and looked at the board. The class was going through one of the questions from last night's assignment. She knew the answer already, so she went back to her pictures. She stopped for a moment to inspect what she'd done. A rough sketch of her pocketknife, which was in the jacket hanging over the side of her chair, and the samurai sword she'd been looking at the night before. It wasn't a masterpiece, but Alex would like it well enough. She turned the paper and started on a Chinese broadsword when Mrs. Coyne called on her.

"Miss Bowden?" she asked, "Would you like to share your answer? You seem to have been working on it diligently." Leah swallowed as the teacher started walking over. Quickly, she stuffed the paper beneath her notebook and looked at the page with the answer on it. It was a limit question, written out in her precise hand.

"Approximately nine point three-five-oh-two," she said quickly. The teacher bent over her desk and inspected the work.

"Wonderful. You were paying attention after all."

Leah smiled to herself as Coyne turned away. When the bell rang, she stuffed her books into her bag and grabbed her jacket, then winced at the sound of her Winchester hitting the floor. She bent to pick it up, palming it as the rest of the class streamed out around her. She stuffed it into her pocket and turned to go when she heard the smooth voice of Mrs. Coyne behind her.

"Leah, dear, could you please tell me what you just put into your pocket?" the other students were gone, and Leah knew that she could be expelled for carrying a weapon with her.

"It was nothing, ma'am," she said respectfully. Whatever else they said about her, no teacher could ever deny that Leah Bowden paid her elders due respect, "I knocked over this picture that I'd drawn for my brother. I was playing with my ring, and bumped 'em both," she prayed the excuse would work and that Coyne hadn't seen the actual knife. The three inch blade was pretty unobtrusive, but you could never tell.

"May I see it?"

"Sure," Leah had gently worked the ring off of her finger as she spoke and handed it over with the picture.

"Are these all weapons you own?"

"Oh, no. Just ones I want to…" she trailed off at the look Coyne was giving her and mentally slapped herself. Now she was convincing the suspicious teacher that she was obsessed with weapons. Which, of course, she was, but not in a bad way.

"Well, it's not bad. Are you taking any art classes right now?" Leah nearly fainted with relief.

"No. I don't really have time for much," she glanced at her watch, "Um, could I get going now? I don't want to be late for British Lit."

She nodded and handed the picture and ring back, "Leah?"

"Yeah?"

"Try not to drop your ring again."

"I won't."

2:50 pm. Gordon drove up to Wayne Manor, marveling at the reconstruction. It was just as grand as the old one had been, and slightly cleaner looking. The real amazement was that it had been rebuilt in just under a year. Not a mean feat, just ask the guys who'd done it. He wished that he was there to bring better news, but that wouldn't warrant a personal visit. He pulled up in front of the mansion and sprinted up to the doors through the rain, feeling awkward in on the elaborate steps. Alfred answered a few moments later, looking puzzled at the lieutenant's appearance. Gordon took that as a sign that he hadn't been told.

"Can I help you, Lieutenant?"

"Is Mr. Wayne home, Alfred?" he asked quietly, "I need to talk to him."

"Master Bruce woke up not long ago. He's in the shower right now, but you can wait for him inside."

"Thanks Alfred, that would be great," Gordon followed the elderly butler inside, and gratefully accepted a cup of hot tea. He and Alfred talked for a while, mostly about the generous donations that Bruce and Wayne Enterprises had made to charities over the past year, until the man himself came in. Instead of his usual perfectly tailored suit, he wore a pair of loose black pants and a t-shirt. He looked half dead. _Must've had a wild night_, Gordon thought, _Well this'll put him off of _that_ for a while_.

"Afternoon, Bruce," Gordon inserted false cheer into his voice, but both men seemed to have noticed.

Alfred stood, "I'll go and brew some more tea, then."

Bruce nodded and sat in a chair across from Gordon, "You have bad news," he said bluntly.

Gordon was taken aback. Was he really that transparent? Bruce continued to watch him silently, so he cleared his throat, "Yes, uh," he took a breath, "Last night, we got a tip from a trusted source that led us to a body… Bruce, it was Rachel Dawes."

Bruce nodded slightly, almost as if he was expecting this. Gordon knew that there was a connection between Dawes and the billionaire, he'd seen that her mother had worked for the Waynes until they died, and had lived on the property. He figured the real reaction would come after he left.

"Do… do you have any leads?" Bruce asked. He looked like he was holding back a flood of emotions.

Gordon shook his head, "There weren't any fingerprints on the scene. And there were no traces of semen on her, so she wasn't raped."

Bruce looked at the floor, the table, the ceiling, anywhere but Gordon's eyes. When he finally met them, his own were tear-filled, "Thank you, Gordon," he said, "This is the second time you've been there for me like this. Thank you."

Gordon nodded and stood, "I should probably get going. I've got a lot of work to do down at the precinct with this Joker…" he stopped, seeing something flash in Bruce's eyes, but continued hurriedly, "this Joker character running loose. I trust you won't tell anyone about this?"

Bruce gave him a grim smile as they walked to the doors, "No. I won't. Thank you again, Gordon."

Gordon nodded, then turned and ran back to his car through the rain. By the time he was in and settled, the doors to the mansion were closed. He drove away, deep in thought. What was it that he'd seen in Bruce's eyes at the mention of the Joker? It had looked like anger, but it had been so fast that Gordon doubted that he had seen it at all.

Back at the mansion, Bruce was down in the foundation of the house's southeast wing. A huge computer console was in front of him, and he had two joker cards from two different packs on the desk. He was searching the Gotham database for any information on the owner of these cards. He would find the Joker. And when he did, he would have his revenge.

3:00 pm. Leah sat next to her brother's bed, regaling him of the day's excitement. Alex was listening attentively, studying the picture she'd drawn for him.

"Why'd you take it to school with you?" he asked, turning to her.

"You know what it's like to be out on those streets," she smiled sadly, "I'd rather be expelled than dead."

Alex nodded; face grave and suddenly older than his nineteen years, "I feel the same way. Just don't do anything stupid, right?"

"Don't worry about me. You've got yourself to worry about."

"I don't worry about you. It's the guys whose asses you're gonna kick that I'm worried about," he grinned, "You still practicing?"

"Yup. Got class tonight," she smiled back, "That punching bag is _so_ dead."

"Better it than you," he shifted in his bed, a look of discomfort passing briefly over his face.

"How are you feeling today?"

"No worse than usual," he ran a hand through his hair, "No better, but no worse."

She reached for his arm and lifted it gently, inspecting. She pushed up the sleeve of his hospital gown, revealing his scarred skin. An accident at the factory where he worked part-time had left him with third-degree burns over his torso and legs. Most people thought he would die, but he hadn't. He'd survived, but his injuries left him with complications that forced him to remain in the hospital. That had been over a year ago.

The room was private (one of the perks of being the son of two doctors) and there was even a cork board hanging across from his bed. Leah called it the Wall, his life, and almost everyone else had picked up the name. Things that he'd drawn, cards and photographs, quotes from books, anything that had seemed relevant to him. He took his sister's hand into his own and set it back on the bed.

"Could you put your drawing on the Wall?" he asked. He hated the look in her eyes every time she saw his scars, and always distracted her when it came. She nodded and stood, taking the sketches from his hand and pinning them up with the spare thumbtacks stuck in the board. She pushed her glasses up as she sat back down, making him smile.

"Wow, Leah," he laughed, "You look like such a geek when you do that."

"You're just jealous."

"I don't have the astigmatism."

"I didn't have strips of metal cemented to my crooked teeth for five years," she grinned, "You're jealous."

"Do you want to?" he asked, eyes flashing mischievously.

"I'll stick with the astigmatism, thank you very much," she said in a mock-hurt voice. She promptly walked out of the room, and he laughed when she strode back in and picked up her bag. She gave him a gentle hug and before exiting a second time.

"Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."

"Will you visit tomorrow?"

"I'll try," she opened the door, "My teachers are all gearing up for this early graduation thing. Just think, I'll be completely free in a month."

"And then you'll visit me every day and bring me candy bars to celebrate."

"Precisely."


	3. Remember, Remember

**A/N: **I'm sorry for snapping before. I was a little frustrated with the absence of reviews. Anyways, thanks for reading so far. I hope you like this chapter.

**Disclaimer: **Wait! Let me check… nope. Still don't own him. Maybe next week…

**Chapter 3: Remember, Remember**

November 5

6:00 am. Alfred rose, as he always did, with the sun. The day was promising to be bright and clear, perfectly suited for the celebrations that were going on in his homeland across the Atlantic. But Bonfire Night was the farthest thing from Alfred's mind as he ironed out the wrinkles in one of Bruce's immaculately cut suits. He laid it out along with a black silk tie, an undecorated button-down shirt, and a pair of black shoes shined so well you could see yourself in them. By the time everything was ready, it was nearing six-thirty, and Alfred set about the daunting task of waking the man to put into the clothes. He scrambled some eggs, fried a few strips of bacon, and toasted some bread. Despite Bruce's discouragement of such meals, Alfred felt that the young man needed something more substantial than the occasional bowl of rice that he'd been eating over the past few days. He topped off a glass of orange juice and set it all on a tray, fully prepared to walk up to Bruce's room, when the man himself entered.

Bruce took one look at Alfred and the tray, then turned to the fridge and, pulling out a bottle of water, said, "I'm not hungry, Alfred. And I'm not going."

"Master Bruce, I just spent the last hour preparing your clothes and breakfast. Now, and I say this with the utmost respect, if you don't do it on your own, I will force-feed you, tie you up, and stuff you in the trunk of the Rolls."

"Don't bother Alfred…" Bruce started, but the butler cut him off.

"I am perfectly willing to tranquilize you, sir, if that's what it takes to get you to pay your respects to the woman you love." Bruce felt as though he'd been slapped. He stared at the expression on Alfred's face. The man was perfectly serious as he set the tray down on the table, "Now eat."

Bruce ate.

8:43 am. Alex stood unsteadily before the bathroom mirror, inspecting his chest. Unlike most, he had learned to look past the scars. He was thinner than he'd been in a long time; a year of hospital food had not been kind to him. He could see where he had once been muscular, the result of years of eskrima- a Filipino martial art. His sister also took the classes, once she'd been old enough to join. He missed the feel of his rattan practice sticks, and wondered if he would get a chance to do it again. Of course, with time and physical therapy, he might be able to.

An impatient knock on the door jerked him from his thoughts. Stiffly, he slid the hospital gown back over his shoulders and walked past a grumbling man. His legs were still awkward when he walked, but he was getting better. He was surprised to find his sister sitting on his bed when he got back to the room.

"Why aren't you in school?" he asked. He looked at her. She was wearing a simple black dress, and she looked unhappy.

"It's Saturday, you numbskull," she smiled, but he could see it was forced.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry I haven't visited since Monday. It's been a bit of a hectic week."

He sat down next to her and put a firm hand on her arm. She met his eyes as he spoke, "Leah, quit skirting the issue. I asked you a question."

"Rachel Dawes is dead," she said flatly.

"You mean the attorney?" he was shocked. He'd never met the woman, but he heard that she was a monster in court, "How… when?"

"Halloween night. Someone's idea of a sick joke."

"So, you're…"

"Going to the funeral. Mom and Dad were invited, but they couldn't go. They're on call today," she sighed, "So I'm taking their place."

"How did they know her?"

"Dad's been a medical examiner for a few of her cases," she looked at him, "I met her once, when she came to the house for his help. She was nice enough, a little standoffish, but nice."

"It's a shame. I mean, she brought down Falcone, right?"

"Yeah," a slight smile came to her face, "With the help of the 'Bat-man.'"

"Speaking of him, has anyone heard from the caped wonder lately?"

"Nah. I figure he'd've been pretty busy since Sunday night, though," she glanced at her watch, "Hey, I've gotta head over there pretty soon. I'd better go."

"Give her my best, Leah."

"I really don't think she'd want that…"

"Shut up."

She grinned and blew him a kiss as she walked out.

12:00 noon. More than one hundred people had turned up for the funeral. People that Rachel Dawes had helped, people that had helped her, and people that just wanted to be have a connection to the late attorney. Bruce kept his head down and avoided the flashing cameras, wishing the ceremony hadn't been so public. He could see Rachel's mother sitting in the front row, her head bent and her hand held by a friend. Bruce felt his heart ache for her. She'd lost her husband many years earlier, and now her only daughter, her pride and joy, had been brutally murdered. She wasn't crying loudly, like so many of the others around, nor was she trying to gain attention.

When the ceremony ended, Alfred walked over to talk to her, and Bruce observed the exchange from a spot next to a tree. Mrs. Dawes gave the old butler a sad smile and a kiss on the cheek when se saw him, and she began speaking quietly.

"The poor woman," said a voice next to him. Bruce nearly jumped out of his skin. The girl was about half a foot shorter than him, maybe a little more, with long brown hair and rectangle-rimmed glasses. There was a small dusting of freckles on her tanned face, and she stood stiffly in her dress. She wasn't a stick, but she seemed a little too thin for her size. He couldn't quite place her age.

"How did you know her?" he asked, and was surprised to see that she nearly jumped out of her skin, too. She obviously hadn't known she was near anyone.

"I didn't, really," she admitted sheepishly, looking at him. Her eyes were at his chest level, so she tilted her head back, then slightly to the side. It was an endearing look, almost like a puppy happy to see a new friend. Her eyes were a warm brown color, and Bruce saw the recognition in them when she met his. To his relief, she didn't call attention to the fact that she was talking to the richest man in Gotham. She simply continued speaking, "My dad helped her out on a few cases," at his confused look, she added, "He's a doctor, a medical examiner. He testified a couple of times. How about you?"

Bruce swallowed slightly before he spoke, "We were old friends," he could hear a crack in his voice and silently cursed his emotions, "I… I've known her for a long time."

The girl's eyes clouded with sympathy. Bruce braced himself for the barrage of condolences that was sure to come, but once again, she surprised him. She laid a gentle hand on his arm and smiled softly, "I'm sorry. I can't imagine what it must feel like."

Bruce swallowed the lump in his throat. He didn't know what to say. The last time anyone had done something like that, he'd been eight years old and in a police station. And just like the last time, something called the comfort away. The girl noticed the photographer before he did, and stepped away behind the tree. Bruce glared at the man with such ferocity that he backed away, but when he turned around again, she was nowhere to be found. He sighed and went back to watching Alfred. Eventually, Mrs. Dawes waved good-bye to him, and he walked over to the tree.

The two men stood there silently as people began to file out of the cemetery. Finally, Mrs. Dawes passed them. She gave them a brief smile. Bruce couldn't help but think that it was the most unutterably sad thing he'd ever seen. He tried to smile in return, but it came out as more of a grimace. She lowered her head and walked away without a sound.

Long after everyone else had left, they were still standing there, by the tree. With the casket already in the grave, it would soon be filled with dirt and covered with grass. Bruce stepped forward, walking between the aisles of now-empty chairs, and pulled a rose out of his pocket. It was the deep red color that signified it was near the end of its lifetime. The lips of its petals were coal-black. Bruce dropped it into the hole, and it landed in one of the piles of dirt that had been sprinkled there by family members earlier. He watched it fall, then turned and walked back towards Alfred, who sat waiting in the car.

**Ahh**... so they meet! Like I said, no romance with her. How could you think that? She's still in high school! Get your mind out of the gutter and review.


	4. All's Fair

**A/N: **Things are going to be a little happier for the next two or so chapters. Then I will completely screw up everyone's lives. I really like the ending of this chapter, though. It was fun.

**Disclaimer: **Crap! I lost the rights _again_. Where'd they go this time? Oh, right. Can't lose something you never had.

**Chapter 4: All's Fair**

November 6

5:57 am. Barbara Gordon was woken up by the sound of her daddy leaving again. She ran to the door, her bare feet cold against the tile floor, and caught up with him just as he was about to leave. He spun and caught her as he always did, as she knew he always would. She whispered a quiet "I love you, Daddy," into his ear, and he kissed her cheek gently. He carried her to the couch, where there was carpet to warm her toes. He set her down and knelt in front of her, stroking her red hair affectionately.

"I love you, too," he said, and kissed her forehead before turning to leave.

Young though she was, Barbara Gordon knew her daddy had a dangerous job. She was always sad when he left, but she knew, as all children do, that her father was invincible. And even if he wasn't, the Batman was. Jim didn't know it, but she had seen the Batman more than once when he came to visit. She always stayed out of sight, hidden. She was good at hiding. Daddy said that if the bad-guys ever came for them, she would have to hide. So she learned the best hiding places. She knew where to go when you wanted to hear someone without them hearing you, where to see someone that didn't want to be seen, and where to go if you never wanted to be found.

So she knew that Batman was a friend. She'd heard him telling her daddy what he needed to do to catch the man with the scary mask (she'd listened while he told her mommy about it). She'd seen that he was nice, even if he did wear all black and flew everywhere. Barbara Gordon did something that very few people did. She trusted Batman absolutely, and had no doubt that he was there to help. Even so, there was another thing she said every time she caught her daddy leaving too early in the morning or too late at night. After the door was shut and she heard the car engine start up, she would whisper, soft as the wind, "Be careful, Daddy."

Because for all she trusted Batman, she knew that no one, not even Superman, can be everywhere at once.

1:32 pm. Bruce groaned softly as he stared at the glowing screen. He'd been trying for almost a week to find the origin of the two joker cards in his possession. As much as he hated the thought of it, the Joker would need to commit another crime before he could be tracked down. He pushed back from the desk and stood, stretching his legs. He felt weak from missing so many days as Batman. He needed to move, to run. So he went back into the main house, taking care to avoid Alfred, and changed into a t-shirt and sweatpants. He started with a slow jog, to get his breathing regular, but quickly increased the pace. Soon he was running flat-out, his breath even and not at all labored. It felt so good to be active.

He let his mind wander as his feet took the well-known path along the road. He thought about Rachel, and how much he had loved her, for years. But then he went over what had happened in the past year. After Ra' al Ghul's attack, they had drifted apart. She had said that she couldn't be with him, and he knew why. He'd held out hope that maybe, just maybe, it could work, but it didn't. And, despite the pain, his heart had let go. He had stopped loving her long before she died, but he hadn't realized it until this moment. The discovery was exhilarating as it was sad, but it was liberating, too. The Rachel Dawes that he had loved was dead, just as the Bruce Wayne that she had loved was. They had become different people, and they had gone their separate ways.

His thoughts turned to the funeral, and the intriguing girl he'd met. She was definitely unusual, and almost certainly too young for him. He knew that she knew who he was, but he had absolutely no idea… then he remembered what she'd mentioned, about her father being a medical examiner for Rachel. He slowed his pace as a car approached, and made a show of breathing heavily. As the car disappeared around a corner, he spun around and made record time back to the mansion. Alfred was by the door when he approached, and handed him a towel. He looked the young Wayne up and down before speaking.

"Might I suggest a shower, sir, before you do anything?"

"Not now, Alfred," Bruce replied, and ran to the piano in the southeast wing.

Half an hour later, he was in the shower, mulling over what he'd found out. He'd confirmed that she was definitely too young for him, but he bypassed that little piece of information and went on to the rest. She had an older brother, hospitalized just over a year ago for severe burns. Her parents were both doctors at Gotham Memorial, where his own father had worked. She'd been formally trained, along with her brother, in the art of eskrima for most of her life. The style used rattan sticks and knives as primary weapons, and it explained why she was so thin. She was due for early graduation in the next month. And her name was Leah.

_It's a nice name_, he thought, as he turned off the water and stepped out.

4:20 pm. "You're joking," Alex said. He stared at his sister incredulously. She blushed slightly and shook her head.

"He just looked so sad, what else could I do?" she pleaded.

"I'm still wondering why he started talking to you in the first place."

"I think he thought that I started the conversation," she ran a hand through her hair, "Should I have ignored him?"

"Well… no," he continued, "You didn't tell him your name, did you?"

She gave him a glare that would have curdled milk, "I'm not a complete idiot, Alex," she said, "I barely said anything."

"Good," he crossed his arms and met her eyes evenly, "I just hope you never meet him again."

"Why? He seemed nice enough."

"You know his reputation."

"Oh please, like he'd be interested in me," she gestured to her glasses and oversized sweatshirt, "Besides, I'm not even legal," he winced, "I doubt that he's _that_ stupid, even if you are."

"Oh, you'd be surprised how stupid men can …" he began, but she cut him off abruptly.

"I have to go to class," her voice was dangerously quiet. He'd heard her speak that softly before, to a guy in their eskrima class who'd made a snide comment about her. The guy had ended up with two black eyes and a bruised rib. And he'd been wearing padding. Alex let her leave. He didn't want to be there for the explosion.

5:02 pm. Bruce watched the class in silent awe. He'd built muscle and speed over the first six years of his absence, and had honed them in the last. But Leah, she had been training for almost her whole life. Twelve years of this had shaped her into something that Bruce wasn't. He was strong and fast, but she moved with speed and fluidity that he had yet to match. At the funeral, she'd stood stiffly in her dress, her hair in a severe bun. Here, she seemed graceful and smooth, her long braid whipping around with the motion of the rest of her body. It seemed a dance, violent and beautiful, even though he knew that fighting was not, in any way, a dance. It had been one of the lessons drilled into him up on the mountain.

He stood outside the small school, dressed like someone who had never even seen a thousand dollars in his life, let alone a billion. No one recognized him, and he liked it that way. He was a ways back from the wide windows, but he could still see a few things. The glasses had been replaced by contacts, but she closed her eyes a lot of the time when she was using the punching bags in the back. He guessed that she wanted to be ready for anything, which was smart in this city.

He watched the class until it ended. Two hours of nonstop movement, culminating in a simple bow from the main practice floor. Leah disappeared into the bathroom as the other students left, to take out her contacts, he guessed. Sure enough, when she reemerged, her glasses were back on, slipping slightly on her sweaty nose. She put on some shoes and slung her bag over her shoulder. She waved to the head instructor as she walked out, smiling.

The sky had darkened considerably, and Bruce wondered where her ride was. He realized that she might not have one, so he pulled his hood up and followed her down the street. No one walked around Gotham alone at night. He would make sure that she wouldn't, either. He had been following her for about fifteen minutes when she rounded a corner. He quickened his pace, worried that someone would be waiting for her. He turned into the alleyway on full alert, but all he could see was darkness. He didn't notice the butt of one of her practice sticks heading towards his temple until it was too late. The soft ground rose to meet him and he heard steps pounding away as the world faded into oblivion.

**I **don't usually beg, but please review this. I really like this chapter, and I want to make sure that I'm not the only one (or possibly confirm my suspicions that I'm completely insane). Come one, press the button, you know you want too. It's all shiny and blue!


	5. Cold Blows the Wind

**A/N: **Alrighty… in this chapter, we make a discovery. Remember those syringes in the first chapter? (Bet you don't). They come back! Now, tell me if this makes her Mary Sue-ish. Really. _Tell me_.

**Disclaimer: **He visited me in a dream last night. Does that count?

**Chapter 5: Cold Blows the Wind**

December 2

5:45 pm. The sun was sinking low over Gotham, and Bruce stood in front of his alter-ego. The suit was looking a little roughed-up. It had been stabbed, shot at, and even, on one memorable occasion, hit by a car. He still had bruises from that one. He knew that he needed to spray on another coat of latex, but that could wait for another night. The utility belt and all of its utilities were laid flat on a table next to him, and the tumbler sat silent and waiting behind him. He opened the glass cabinet and began to change, beginning with the Nomex suit and ending with the grappling gun in the belt. In ten minutes, Bruce had disappeared. His alter-ego had nothing to look at to remind him of who he was. But that was the last thing the Batman needed; a reminder.

The tumbler, no longer silent, roared out of the cave. Its driver was thinking over the latest information that had arisen about the Joker. The madman had struck again, several times since November. The new district attorney, a man named Harvey Dent, had started a campaign against him, but there was very little evidence at the crime scenes. The Batman had been preoccupied with a string of brutal attacks that had happened over a week. He'd caught the guy doing it, and put his head through a wall. The police had found him there, struggling to free himself while the woman he'd been attacking laughed and laughed…

But there were bigger fish to fry. To find the killer who'd begun to leave smiles on his victim's faces would help put a lot of minds at rest. Including his.

6:07 pm. Leah twirled her pocketknife absently as she walked down the road. A few people gave her odd looks, but it was far from unusual to be openly armed in Gotham. She didn't notice anyways. She grinned as she saw the hospital; all decked out in Christmas and Hanukah decorations. The latter holiday would be drawing to a close in a few days, but it was all in the spirit of the season. A chill wind cut through her clothes, and she hugged her jacket tighter. It was large and olive-drab, and had belonged to an uncle who'd been in the army. It was one of her favorite things, and she loved when it got cold enough to put it on.

She dropped the knife into her pocket before walking into the hospital, knowing what kind of looks she'd get for carrying it there. Once inside, she nodded her head to the woman behind the front desk and went to her brother's floor. She'd forgiven him his comment from earlier, when she told him about the man she'd knocked out in the alleyway. She knew that there was no chance she'd meet Bruce Wayne again, and she realized that she didn't really care.

When she reached Alex's room, she saw him speaking animatedly to a blonde orderly, who had probably spent less time in the hospital than he had. Leah watched until the young woman walked out. She looked slightly sheepish, and was blushing a deep red. Leah was laughing as she entered her brother's room. Alex looked slightly annoyed.

"What's with you?" he demanded.

"I'm free!" she exulted, then got a mischievous grin on her face, "You hang mistletoe over your bed again?"

He smiled back at her, "Works every time."

"I'll bet. She looked pretty happy when she left."

"What can I say," he spread his arms, "Women can't resist me."

"Thank god I'm your sister, then. I'm immune and can knock some sense into you from time to time."

"Now why would I want to be sensible? It's not anywhere near as fun as being ridiculous," he gestured her over, asking, "When's the graduation ceremony?"

"A week from today," she smiled, then stumbled and put a hand to her head. She sat down on his bed, glancing glanced at her watch, "Oh no."

"What's wrong?" he sat up. She looked scared.

"I missed my interval," her eyes were wide as she met his, "I… I forgot, with all the preparation for the graduation, and I don't…" tears came to her eyes.

Alex gripped her arm, "It's at home, isn't it?" she nodded silently, "Don't worry. I'll beep mom, let her know…"

She cut him off, "I'm nearly an hour and a half late," her breath had quickened, she was starting to hyperventilate.

He grabbed her shaking hands, speaking softly, "Breathe, don't panic, you know that it only makes it worse," she nodded, mouth twisting in a grimace of pain, "Don't panic, just breathe. He pressed the call button urgently. The young orderly from before appeared in a second, "Get my parents," he demanded harshly, "Go!" she bobbed her head and ran off. Leah was rocking back and forth, trembling all over. He watched her face carefully, praying that they would get there before she started seizing.

Their father appeared at the door, followed seconds later by their mother and the orderly. Dr. Bowden opened up his coat, pulled out a syringe and a small bottle of pale gold liquid. He quickly prepared the needle, "Hold her arm still, Alex," when his son complied, he found the vein and plunged the syringe in, emptying it. Her arm started twitching as the serum entered her system, and a shiver passed through her whole body. Her breathing slowed and she stopped spasming.

Her father caught her as she started to fall sideways. He lifted her head up and looked into her eyes. Her pupils were dilated, but slowly contracting. She didn't seem to register his presence, but he spoke anyway, in a soft, urgent voice, "Leah," he turned her head towards him, "Leah, if you can hear me, blink." Slowly, painfully, her eyes closed and opened once, and there was collective sigh of relief in the room. Even the orderly, who had absolutely no idea what was going on, seemed happy. She silently excused herself. No one noticed.

Leah bent her head and rested it against her father's shoulder, "I'm sorry, Dad," she whispered tiredly, "I didn't mean to."

"It's all right. You're all right."

Alex put a hand on her back. He could feel her heartbeat slowing down through her thin shirt. Their mother walked over and lifted her up with her husband's help. "I'll take her home," she said softly, and walked out of the room with her daughter leaning heavily on her shoulder. Both men simply nodded and watched them go.

Dr. Bowden turned to Alex, "Thank god you were with her," he ran a hand through his hair, and Alex suddenly noticed how old his father looked. Old and tired.

"I think I should keep some of that stuff in my room from now on," he said. His father nodded, then got up and left silently. Alex stared at his retreating back, still worried for his sister. He hoped she'd be all right on her own, and wondered if she would rather have his visible scars than her own hidden ones.

7:35 pm. Lucius Fox still liked the Applied Sciences Department, even though he was now Director of the Board at Wayne Enterprise. Bruce didn't mind letting him tinker with his gadgets down in the basement; in fact, he encouraged it enthusiastically. And, every once in a while, he'd come down for a little 'visit.' Or his 'friend,' Batman, would. Fox was not a stupid man, so he knew that as long as he was supplying the Caped Crusader with nifty toys, he would stay right where he was.

Right now, however, he was looking at something for an old friend. Dr. Andrew Bowden had been an intern of Dr. Wayne when he was younger, and knew Fox well. But Bowden had a small problem. That problem was five-foot-eight, seventeen years old, and had a residual neurological condition from the fear gas attacks last year.

It wasn't unusual to find people in Gotham who were still affected by the gas, but the majority of them were in mental institutions. All the rest had to be under constant surveillance and care. But Leah was an exception; the only exception. No one who'd studied her case could figure out why the gas had affected her so differently. All Fox knew was that she needed to have daily injections of the antidote, or she'd start seizing and then slip into a comatose state. He was studying her blood work when the phone rang. He picked it up with one hand as he continued to star into the microscope.

"This is Fox speaking." A pause, then, "Is she awake?" another silence, "Good. Keep her that way. I'll be right over."

7:57 pm. Leah felt ill. She'd emptied her stomach on the way home, and was dry heaving in the bathroom when the doorbell rang. Through a dizzy haze, she recognized the voice of Lucius Fox. She leaned back against the bathtub, her mind fuzzy with half-remembered images. She could see a man on a horse, screaming in pain and fury, and something huge and black above her head. She tried to tell herself that it wasn't real, but it was frightening anyways. She couldn't remember why she'd been in the Narrows that night, only that it had nearly killed her. There was a hammer in her head, pounding rhythmically against her skull. The rim of the tub felt immensely comfortable, and she wanted nothing more than to slip into sweet unconsciousness. But her mother and Mr. Fox had other ideas, apparently.

At their calls, she stood shakily from her spot on the floor, and walked into the other room. Fox greeted her with a soft smile and an even softer hello, and motioned for her to sit next to her mother. She sat, staring at him as he looked her over. Then he stood, pulling a needle from his coat. The liquid was darker colored, and looked a little thicker than usual. She held her arm out obligingly, not waiting for him to ask her to. He knelt next to her.

"This is going to put you to sleep for a good while," he said.

She tilted her head and gave him a half-smile, "I want to sleep."

"Good," he slid the syringe into her bicep and pushed the plunger, "You have time to…" he trailed off as her eyes drooped shut and she fell back, "Or not."

Her mother smiled, "I guess she was tired already."

He stood, "Call me when she wakes up. If that takes more than forty-eight hours, I'll come back," he stopped and pulled another needle from his pocket, "And give her this tomorrow before noon. Just in case."

Mrs. Bowden nodded and thanked him as she saw him out the door. She turned back to her sleeping daughter, laid her out completely on the couch, and pulled a heavy blanket over her. She didn't even stir once. The stillness was unnatural, but it meant that would get better. At least, her mother hoped it did.

**So!** Hand shaky death! If any of you know what that's from, say tomatoes. You want to press the button. You want to press the button. You want to…


	6. Three Birds with One Stone

**A/N: **Okay, in this chapter I introduce one of my favorite characters (she's not mine, but I love her just the same)… and I completely screw up some lives.

**Disclaimer: **I bought The Long Halloween, Dark Victory, Haunted Knight, and Hush. Can I have him now?

**Chapter 6: Three Birds with One Stone**

December 4

9:23 am. Leah woke with a start, a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her mouth felt like something had crawled in and died, her hair was oily from sleep, and stomach growled with hunger. She got up and wandered blindly for a moment, then sat back down and groped for her glasses. When she had them on, she went to the kitchen, stumbling slightly. She steadied herself on a counter and filled a cup with water, gulping it down, slaking her thirst a bit. She refilled the cup and grabbed an apple before going back to the living room. She finished off the apple and the water, which helped the feeling in her stomach a bit, but something still lingered, an empty feeling beyond the hunger. As she stood to throw the apple core away, she noticed that there was a message on the answering machine. It was from her mother:

"Good Morning, Leah, and Happy Birthday!" the voice was tired, but cheerful, "I'm sorry that I'm not at home right now, but your father and I will be home in a few hours, for cake and presents. I've got a special surprise for you, too. We'll see you by four at the latest, probably earlier. I love you, and I'll see you soon."

For some reason, she felt the emptiness in her stomach grow as she listened to the message. There was nothing unusual about it, nothing menacing. But she still felt the apple coming back up. She'd forgotten today was her birthday.

10:46 am. The lobby of Wayne Tower was enough to make Solomon drool, and to make Leah nervous. She was wearing her army coat and jeans, and had a woven hat jammed over her still-wet hair. She stamped her boots slightly and walked over to the marble reception desk, ignoring the look of disdain the red-headed secretary shot her. The woman tapped her fingers on the gold filigree as she chatted to someone on the phone. Leah just barely caught the "I love you too, baby. Gotta go." Before the woman tuned towards her, "How may I help you," she asked, in a voice that suggested she'd like to help her out the door.

"I'm here to see Mr. Lucius Fox. I made an appointment a few hours ago, uh, Leah Bowden."

The secretary glanced down at her computer and typed in the name. A look of irritation passed over her face as she spoke again, "Your name's here. But I'm afraid you'll have to wait. He's in a board meeting right now."

"Oh. Thank you," she glanced over at some chairs lined against the far wall. They looked immensely comfortable, "I'll just wait over there, then?"

Again, the flash of annoyance, "Yes," her words were clipped, "That will be fine."

Leah smiled at her as she walked away, and plopped down in one of the chairs as delinquently as she could. She felt the smile turn to a grin when the secretary's eyes narrowed. It was fun to piss off such a snob. It helped her nerved calm down a bit. She absently inspected her tan messenger bag. It wasn't festooned in buttons and artwork, like so many other people's, but was definitely old and used. She liked it; it fit her like the jacket did. Said jacket was starting to become uncomfortable in the heat, so she slid it off and looked down at her sweater. It was a light blue-violet color, perfect for wintertime. She leaned back and continued to watch the secretary. The woman glanced towards the doors from time to time, taking note of the people who came in. After a while, Leah took a look at her watch. She'd been waiting for a half an hour. She stood and walked over to the secretary again.

"Is he almost finished?" she asked, "Because I have some other things that I have to do."

"Mr. Fox is a very busy man," was all the reply she got.

"I understand that, but I just want to know how much longer I've got to wait."

"Look, kid. I don't know who you are, but whatever it is that you need to talk to him about, it can wait," she glared at Leah, then her eyes slid past to the doors. Suddenly, her shoulders straightened and a wistful smile came onto her face. Leah spun on her foot to see what had brought about the sudden change in the red-head, and ended up hitting the man. Her glasses fell from her face, and she lost her balance trying to catch them. Fortunately, he caught her and replaced the glasses in her hands. Whoever he was, he definitely worked out. She could feel the muscles of his arms through the fabric of his suit.

"I'm so sorry," she said, "And thank you. I'm friggin' blind as a bat without…" she trailed off as she recognized the smiling face of Bruce Wayne.

"Not a problem," he turned towards the secretary, "Alice, I need to see Fox. Is he available?"

"Of course, Mr. Wayne. He's downstairs."

"Wait!" Leah said, glaring at the woman, "I've been waiting here for thirty minutes. And I had an appointment."

Bruce turned to her, "You can come down with me. I'm sure that he won't mind."

"Wow, um, thanks. Again. Mr. Wayne," she was a little astonished at his reaction. Most people in his position would have just ignored her and walked away. The secretary, on the other hand, had a look of pure venom etched on her face. Leah grinned at her as she walked away.

"I'm afraid I didn't properly introduce myself last time we met," he said, jerking her back to her senses, "I'm Bruce Wayne," he extended a hand.

She took it tentatively. Yep, this guy was seriously strong, "I know," she said, "My name's Leah."

"Nice to meet you again," he steered her towards a service elevator that looked older than the glass ones that traveled up and down the front of the building. It opened smoothly, though, and the ride was fast, "Can I ask you why you're meeting Fox?"

"I came here to thank him."

"You seem to be thanking people a lot today. What'd he do?"

"He helped me out of a sticky situation," he questioned her with a look; "It's not exactly the kind of thing you do over the phone. Or talk to strangers about," she added pointedly. He took the hint.

The doors opened again onto a lower level. It was a huge basement, filled with tables, cabinets, and storage containers. Bruce called it the Applied Sciences Department. She called it cool. He laughed, then, and she studied him. He seemed a far cry from the broken man of a month earlier. He was warmer, for a start, and more open. They weaved between the tables, over to Fox, who was bending over a microscope and taking notes. He glanced up as the pair approached.

"Ah, just the people I was hoping to see," he smiled, "And how are you feeling, Ms. Bowden?"

"Better, thanks. I was a little groggy this morning, but I'm all right now."

"That's good to hear. Mr. Wayne, I suppose you have some business that you need to deal with?"

"I do, as a matter of fact. But it can wait for a little while."

"Good," he turned back to Leah, "And what are you here for, exactly?"

"I was wondering if you had anymore of… that stuff you gave me. I'm running a little low."

Bruce glanced between the two quizzically. What was going on? Why was Fox asking about her health? She'd seemed perfectly fine to him.

"Indeed I do," he stood, "Bruce, if you would excuse us for a moment?"

Bruce nodded and watched as the two walked towards a table that held a centrifuge and a refrigerator. Fox opened the fridge and pulled a small black case from inside. Leah checked the contents of the case discreetly, then slipped it into her bag and thanked him. The whole thing took no more than a few moments, but there was obvious relief in her eyes as they walked back over.

"I've got to head back home now. I've probably been gone too long already."

"It was good seeing you again, Leah," Bruce said.

"You too, Mr. Wayne," she smiled at them both, "'Bye Mr. Fox. And thanks again."

"You're welcome. Feel free to come back any time."

She snorted, "Tell that your secretary."

When she was gone, Bruce turned to Fox, "What was that all about? She was being pretty evasive about why she came."

"Oh, Mr. Wayne, I don't think that I'm the one who should be telling you. We've all got little secrets, right?"

Bruce smirked, knowing that was all he was going to get, "Right."

11:04 am. Leah had walked home, choosing to enjoy the cold of the air. She liked winter. The chill made Gotham's pollution less evident, and everything seemed a little bit cleaner. Once the first snow fell, the streets would be filled with black sleet. But for now, the sun actually shone on the buildings, and the city didn't seem quite so desolate. She took a deep breath as she approached the building, filling her lungs and enjoying the bite of the cold.

When she reached the top of the stairs, she twisted the key in the lock and opened the door, then froze when she saw the figure on the couch. Was this what she'd been feeling odd about? Quietly, she walked up behind the person, who stood and turned, a grin on her face.

Leah launched herself at the intruder, "Selina!" she cried happily.

Selina was knocked back by the force of the hug, but managed to keep her balance, "Whoa, whoa girl!" she laughed, "I do need to breathe!"

Leah stepped back and smiled sheepishly, "Sorry. I just… I mean, I haven't seen you in two years!" she tilted her head, "How was Metropolis?"

"I'll tell you over lunch. You haven't eaten, have you?"

"Not in about two days."

"Come on, then. How about we try that new Indian place on fifth? My treat."

A few minutes later, they were on the highway to downtown Gotham. Selina glanced over at Leah, "So, little cousin, I bet you're wondering the real reason I came back."

"My parents called, didn't they?"

"Guess you weren't wondering, then."

Leah's voice was quiet, "Why didn't you come last year?"

Selina seemed to hesitate before she spoke, "I was… held up. Business was real bad, and I couldn't afford to take the time off. I'm sorry."

"Alex was hurt bad, Selina."

Selina met her cousin's eyes, "He wasn't the only one."

"I survived."

"Barely. How are you feeling now?"

Leah squirmed. She hated talking about herself, "I'm fine. Just a little tired."

"You've got to be more careful," he green eyes were sad, "I don't know what your family would have done if it had been worse."

Leah crossed her arms, "Once. One single time I slip, and everyone has to be there for it. I'm fine. Really."

"I know, sweetie. I just…" she stopped and focused her eyes on the road, "I worry about you," she finished quietly. She wasn't even sure if she'd said it out loud, but Leah sighed and muttered a soft, "Thanks." They passed the rest of the ride in silence.

Once they reached the restaurant, however, Leah smiled at the smell of food. As the waiter seated them, she glanced at Selina, "So, how was Metropolis?"

"Bright. All shiny, like it was new," opened her menu, "The only thing that was like Gotham was the size. Other than that, it's like they're day and night."

"Did you see Superman?"

"Not up close. He was all over the news," she looked up, a smile on her face, "I _did_ meet the great Lois Lane."

"What was she like?"

"Couldn't spell worth a crap," Leah laughed, "But she always got the story. Her partner, Clark Kent, was nice. A little odd, but nice."

"What d'you mean?"

Selina's green eyes sparkled, "When was the last time you had a guy tell you that you looked 'swell'?"

"I haven't had a guy tell me I looked anything but bored."

"That's a shame. You grew up good, kid." They gave the waiter their order, then went back to their conversation, "So I hear there's a new hero in Gotham, now."

Leah nodded, "They call him Batman," she gave Selina a conspiratorial look and leaned in close, "Because he dresses up like a giant bat."

"I'd gathered as much from the newspapers. And Bruce Wayne came back last year. Seems like Gotham's getting its fair share of press," she glanced up as the waiter approached, "Food's here," she said.

3:02 pm. Gordon stood on the side of the highway, by a taped-off section of road. The small black sedan was strewn across the area, and the three bodies that had been thrown from the car were being loaded onto stretchers and taken to the morgue. All three had eerie grins on their faces, and a single playing card had been found on top of the cylinder of gas in the trunk.

He looked back over the scene, wondering when the Batman was going to catch this Joker. He was obviously a complete lunatic. Maybe not as crazy as Crane had been, but definitely a few nuts short of a bunch. Gordon shuddered, remembering the head of Arkham Asylum. The most frightening thing about that man was how he had managed to pass for sane for so long. Fortunately, Batman had managed to find him a month or so after the incident, babbling something about Carl Jung and archetypes. Either way, he was now an inmate of the facility that he'd once run.

The lieutenant shook his head and turned his attention back to the current case. No one had claimed to have seen the Joker yet, but he heard whispers of a chalk-white face and ruby-red lips that always smiled. A shock of green hair and a purple suit. Gordon wondered where they came from. It was always a friend who had a friend who had seen him.

He drove back to the station in silence, leaving the cleanup to the road crew. He had a positive ID on all the victims and had to inform any relatives of the accident. He felt a pang when he checked the cards out. He'd be telling some poor little girl that her parents and brother were dead. He rubbed a hand over his face and prepared himself for the visit.

3:57 pm. Leah and Selina had walked around downtown for a while, until Selina had to go to work. She'd dropped her cousin off at home before heading out. As soon as she got in, Leah realized how tired she still was, and had barely pulled her shoes off before crashing on the couch. The doorbell woke her up, less than an hour later. As soon as she saw the police badge, her stomachache came back full force. A sharp, wrenching pain that would have had someone weaker doubled over. But she stood straight and invited the man in.

"How can I help you Officer...?"

"Gordon. Lieutenant Gordon."

"Lieutenant. Sorry."

"Are you Leah Bowden?" he asked, tentatively. He seemed to hope that she would say no.

"Yes. That's me. My parents should be home soon, if you need to talk to them," his face twisted when she said that, and though it seemed impossible, she felt the pain deepen.

"I'm so sorry to be the one to bring you this news," he said, tugging at his sleeves. She kept her face stone as he spoke the next words, "They were murdered, earlier today."

"Does my brother know?" Gordon felt his gut wrench, why, oh why did he have to tell her?

"You… your brother was killed with them."

"Oh," her voice was soft, almost nonexistent. She stared fixedly at her shoes, concentrating hard on the black. He didn't see the hand that curled into a hard fist by her side. Gently, he patted her on the shoulder, and apologized as he left. Just before she closed the door, her eyes met his. There was something odd about them; they seemed… different from how they'd looked before. But then the door swung shut, and she disappeared from view.

8:56 pm. A shadow prowled the streets, moving lithely on both rooftops and in alleyways. Two ears pointed upwards, and there was no noise as the shadow silently entered a real penthouse suite in the Hotel Astoria. No alarms sounded as the figure opened a safe with deft fingers, and removed a string of pearls and two diamond rings. The jewels glinted for a moment, then disappeared into a black cloth bag. Then the shadow was gone as silently and quickly as it had come. On a roof, another shadow, bigger and more menacing, watched as the lithe figure dropped into the darkness. The large shadow followed, amused. _A cat burglar_.

Batman moved as silently as the cat did, if not more so. He wasn't quite as fast, though, and she vanished around a corner. He hesitated, remembering the last time he had followed a woman into a dark alleyway, but needn't have bothered. A voice, soft and smoky, purred next to his ear, "So you're the famous Batman."

"And you have something that doesn't belong to you," he was bothered by the fact that she didn't seem afraid of him. Most criminals would be cowering in fear.

She stuck out her hip and pouted, "It doesn't belong to you, either, Batboy. Guess you'll have to find your own."

He lunged for her, but she jumped backwards and pulled herself partly up a drainpipe, "Nope," she grinned, "Not on a first date. You know, Batman, I'm just not that kind of girl." With that, she turned and moved easily up the rest of the way, disappearing over the rooftop in seconds. He followed quickly, with the grapple gun, just in time to see her jump off the other side. By the time he reached the edge, she had vanished. He was frustrated and upset, she shouldn't have been able to get away from him so easily, but he let it go. Gotham's glitterati could stand to lose some of their valuables. There were others that needed his attention.

**Ummm… **should I go hide? Or did you like? Trust me, there is a reason for everything. You'll just have to review and see.


	7. A Long, Dark Knight

**A/N: **I want to thank my two reviewers for my last chapter (DragonFlame27, you especially hold a place in my heart- you read my other story, too!) Anyways, in this chapter we really start to see some of the repercussions of the Joker's insanity (like I said in the summary- it's about his affect on people), and Bruce meets Selina, albeit under some pretty tense conditions.

**Disclaimer: **I own the movie, the novelization of the movie, and the rights to the next film. Oh, wait, that was just the really good dream I had last night. Oh well, I've still got the first two.

**Chapter 7: A Long, Dark Knight**

December 5

11:07 am. Bruce knelt before the cold stone monument. It was on the top of one of the hills in Gotham cemetery. He ran his fingers gently over the engraved marble profile, gently setting the white rose in his other hand gently on the grass. It was fresher than the ones he'd left last time. For a long time he stayed silent and unmoving. He'd never been the type to talk to headstones. Even as a child, he'd only kept a respectful silence around his parents' headstones. Eventually, he stood and allowed Alfred to step forward. Apparently, he had no such qualms about speaking to the dead. As he informed the late attorney of recent developments, Bruce turned and started down the hill.

He was near the car when he noticed the funeral dispersing below. A line of people dressed in black filed past three freshly dug graves. Scanning the faces, Bruce recognized a few doctors that he'd seen at Gotham Memorial before, interspersed with some college-age kids. They walked by the graves quietly, a few stopping momentarily to speak to someone sitting in the front row. When they had all moved on, he was shocked to see Leah, her head bent and hair hanging in her face. Sitting next to her was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Her raven hair fell in loose curls about her face, and she had an arm around the girl's shoulders. Bruce made his way down to the pair as they sat there.

The woman looked up sharply as he approached. Her eyes were a bright green that might, under other circumstances, have been lively and excited. Now they were simply wary. Her arm tightened around Leah as she spoke, "Can I help you?"

"I… uh, I'm Bruce Wayne," he stuttered, startled at her hostility.

"So, you're the famous Bruce Wayne," she gave him a disinterested look, "Can I help you?"

"My parents are dead, Mr. Wayne," Leah spoke suddenly. Her voice was dull and tired sounding, and she continued to stare at her lap. It was then that he noticed the three black-tipped roses she held. Her hands shook slightly as she continued, "My brother, too. Yesterday."

"If that's all you wanted, you can leave now," the woman said, "I don't think that…" she trailed off as Leah stood and walked over to the graves. Her hands were clenched around the flowers and shaking fiercely as she spoke, but her voice remained dull and emotionless, "They were smiling," she said, staring at her trembling hands, "They were grinning and it was wrong. It was so wrong," she looked up, "Why were they smiling, Selina?" she asked, addressing the dark-haired woman.

Selina knelt beside Leah and took the girl's hands into her own. Then she let out a gasp as she looked down, "Oh my god," gently, she pried apart Leah's clenched fingers, unwrapping them from the stabbing thorns. The stems were wet with blood, and it was flowing freely from her hands.

"It wasn't right, it wasn't right," she muttered softly, shaking her head. Even after Selina helped her stand and start walking away, her lips moved soundlessly. Bruce watched them go, unsure of what he could do. Once, Selina turned and looked at him, her eyes filled with sorrow, but she quickly ducked her head again as they disappeared around a stand of trees. When they were gone, he knelt and picked up the fallen flowers. The stems were still sticky, and the blood was the same deep color of the petals.

"Who are those for, sir?" Alfred asked. He'd approached without Bruce noticing.

"Someone who shouldn't need them," he replied, and dropped one rose in each grave.

12:43 pm. Selina watched her cousin worriedly. She'd managed to staunch the blood flow with some towels from her trunk, but Leah was still unresponsive to all her attempts to talk. She was still mouthing the words that she'd been saying since that morning. But even as Selina cared for the girl, another part of her was purring in delight. In two days, she'd met two of Gotham's legends. And she was pretty sure she'd managed to piss them both off. The Cat arched its back and rumbled contentedly. It was wondering what kinds of pretty toys the Wayne boy had at his house. And it knew how to get what it wanted.

Leah moaned suddenly, and the Cat was forced into the back of her mind. She looked down at the girl's hands. The bandages wrapped around them were soaked through with blood. Selina made a decision.

"Come on, little cousin," she said softly, "We're going to the hospital."

9:56 pm. In Gotham, three things were happening at once. Beneath Wayne Manor, a billionaire who had been described by the tabloids as a playboy was wrapping old bruises and preparing to sustain fresh injuries. Across town, a woman with startling green eyes dressed all in black and slipped out of her small, cat-infested apartment. And in a cold hospital room at Gotham Memorial, something that wasn't Leah Bowden ripped out its IV and opened its eyes.

In Gotham, three things were happening at once. Batman patrolled his rooftops, swinging past the snow-topped buildings. Catwoman prowled the back alleys, a black silk pouch carrying three large diamonds at her side. And the thing that wasn't Leah went to her parents' house and took three things that were hers and were not hers.

In Gotham, thee things were happening at once. Batman swung low behind the thief who'd just left a jewelry store. Catwoman ducked away from the man who was pursuing her. And both froze when they heard the scream of someone in complete agony and utter terror.

December 6

3:35 am. Jessica felt her eyelids begin to droop as she stood in front of the coffee machine. She desperately needed a break, but her shift wasn't over yet. Sighing, she glanced down at her clipboard. She needed to go check on the status of the patient in room 211. The coffee finished filling the cup, so she picked it up and headed down the hall. The lights were dim, but the doctors had insisted that this patient be monitored until she could be transferred to better care. Jessica glanced down at the information. Apparently, by the time she had arrived at the hospital, the patient was talking to herself, and had proceeded to attempt to scratch her eyes out when doctors approached. _Ah_, Jessica thought, _Better care. As in the psych ward_.

Room 211 was ahead of her. She opened the door as quietly as possible, but the patient didn't stir. Something seemed off, though. She glanced up at the heart monitor and then back down at the bed. _Oh, God_. Somebody _is going to lose his head_. Whoever was supposed to be monitoring the heart monitors obviously hadn't noticed the lack of heartbeat in room 211. In fact, somebody had missed the lack of a patient entirely. She beeped the head nurse, hoping that she wouldn't get too much blame for… whatever had happened.

**Oh dear!** Whatever could have happened? Review, and you might find out sooner than later.


	8. Split the Difference

**Disclaimer: **Don't own Batman, don't own Dent, don't own Alfred (I'm working on that last bit, though). I do own the insanity at the end of this chapter, though. Hope you like it (or at least feel it warrants a review).

**Chapter 8: Split the Difference**

December 10

7:35 am. Harvey Dent knocked on the door of Lieutenant Gordon's office. He heard a muffled "Come in," so he pushed it open and walked inside. Dent surveyed the room with a slightly amused look in his eyes. Papers and case files were open all over the room, and he only had more for the overworked cop. He sat in the chair across from Gordon's desk and waited patiently for him to look up.

"What do you have, Dent?" Gordon asked.

_Okay_, Harvey thought,_ so he doesn't _have_ to look up_. "It's another guy, beaten half to death. This one was wanted for a triple homicide."

"_Was_ wanted?"

"Yep," Gordon finally lifted his head, "Before he died in the hospital from his injuries," Dent leaned forward, "Are you sure it's not your Batman that's doing this?"

Gordon shook his head, "No. He's too honorable for that. And he's not mine. I don't think anybody could own that guy."

"How do you know he hasn't changed his moral code?"

"I've met him."

"So? You've met me. Don't you think it's possible that I could suddenly turn into some sort of psychopath?"

"I wouldn't doubt it for a second," the district attorney managed to look annoyed; "You should meet him. I'll introduce you, and then you'll get what I mean."

"All right. Introduce me to the Batman, and maybe then he could help us with this case. You did say that he was some sort of detective, right?"

"He's probably already hunting the guy that's doing this. Batman doesn't take too kindly to people killing other people in his territory. Even if they do deserve it."

"Only the one has died so far. The rest are just in intensive care. You know, internal hemorrhaging and the like"

Gordon smiled grimly, "Close to death counts, too. Only thing is, this guy's not doing it for kicks. All of the ones that have been attacked remember him asking something about the Joker. Man's got an agenda."

"Must be some sort of revenge thing. You should start by looking at the survivors of the Joker attacks."

Gordon nodded thoughtfully, "You're right," he pulled up a file on his computer and started scanning it intently.

Harvey watched him for a moment before standing, "Well, I'd better get going. I've got one or two more stops to make before I can go in to work. I wonder if Rachel Dawes was ever this busy."

"Yeah, she was. Used to some in here all the time. That was one persistent woman. She almost never lost a case."

"I wish I'd have gotten to meet her. She sounds like an amazing person."

"She was."

11:36 am. Bruce woke up to Alfred turning the television on in his room. He sat up, massaging his shoulder, "What…" he yawned widely, the continued, "What are you doing?" he asked.

"I thought you might like to see this, sir," Alfred replied, pointing to the screen. Bruce looked over, and was met by Leah's face smiling back at him. It was a picture from a camping trip, judging by the lake behind her. She had her arm wrapped around her brother's shoulder, and they were both dripping wet and laughing. Then the announcer appeared on the screen, saying, "If you have any information regarding this disappearance, please contact you local police station," she smiled a false smile, then turned to her co-anchor. He smiled back and began to speak, "In other news, it seems…" he was cut off when Alfred shut the set off.

"She's missing?" Bruce asked.

Alfred nodded, "Five days ago, she vanished from Gotham Memorial. She was under suicide watch, according to lieutenant Gordon."

"Suicide watch?" he asked, incredulous, "But she seemed so happy, so… alive."

"Except for the last time you saw her," Alfred pointed out.

Bruce groaned, remembering the cemetery, and meeting Selina. Leah's whole family was dead. But even so, she seemed stronger than that. She's survived… well, he wasn't actually sure what she'd survived, but whatever it was, it had to have been bad. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of his bed, "Alfred, get Fox on the phone. I need to talk to him."

12:29 pm. "So, you're saying that Crane's toxin was still affecting her? A year later?"

Fox nodded, " Her mind was already fragile, the death of her family was probably too much for her," he shook his head, "It's a shame. She was such a good kid."

"Is that all you can tell me? Is there anything else that might help?"

"Mr. Wayne, if you want to know what I think, just ask," Bruce nodded, and Fox sighed, "In all probability, she'll be found in a back alley in a few days. Might have her wrists cut, might be hanging from a fire escape, might've even found a gun. I don't know, but that's what's likely. That's not what I think is going to happen, though."

Bruce looked up in surprise, "You don't?"

"I think that she's lost, and she just needs someone to find her," the shadow of Fox's customary mirth flashed in his sad eyes.

Bruce nodded, "I hope someone will."

"So do I, Mr. Wayne. So do I."

9:36 pm. Gordon pointed the spotlight onto one of the clouds. Dent stood next to him, sipping a cup of coffee and shivering, "So when's he gonna show?" he demanded. Gordon shrugged, then his eyes flickered over Harvey's shoulder. Dent turned and found himself face-to-face with Batman. He nearly dropped his coffee.

"What did you need?" the Bat's voice was a low growl.

"Batman, meet Harvey Dent. Harvey, well, here he is."

The attorney stuck out a hand. Batman stared at him, not moving. Dent dropped his hand and stuffed it into his pocket, running the other through his hair self-consciously.

Gordon pulled the six case files from within his jacket and handed them to Batman. Harvey observed the interaction silently. Batman looked through the files, then met Gordon's eyes, "Do you have anything new on the Joker?" he gestured to the files in his hand, "This one's been getting in my way."

"I've got the most recent murders on record," Gordon said, "And this." He took another joker card from his pocket.

Batman took it, examined it, and put it somewhere within his cloak, "Thanks," he said, then disappeared from the rooftop.

Harvey looked around in shock, "Gone," he said.

"He does that," Gordon replied, "Annoying, isn't it?"

December 11

1:35 am. _She stood on an empty field, ankle deep in snow. Her feet had gone numb hours ago, but she didn't dare move. She was waiting, and she'd been waiting for a long time. Then, her brother was in front of her. He hadn't appeared from thin air, nor had he slowly materialized. He had always been there, and always would be, even when he was gone. _

_She stood still for a moment, then met his eyes hesitantly, "I miss you."_

_He regarded her evenly, "We miss you, too," he said. His voice was soft and whispery. It almost seemed like the wind had brought it to her. Then she realized that it _was_ the wind speaking, using her brother's voice. The words came, but his mouth didn't move, "We're waiting for you, Leah."_

"_I'll come," she said, "I just have to do something first."_

_There was a look in his eyes that she couldn't quite read, "Don't do something you might regret."_

_Her hands felt warm, all of a sudden. She looked down to see blood dripping onto the snow, staining it red. Even as the wind carried her brother away, she whispered, "I think I already have."_

In her sleep, Leah shivered, mouth opening in a soft moan. She rolled over, and woke up with a hiss of pain. Blearily, she opened her eyes and put a hand to her head. She sat on a sofa that had seen too many years, in a building that hadn't been inhabited in about a decade, aside from the occasional squatter- like herself.

The moon hung low over the Narrows, bathing the world a pale white. She stood unsteadily and walked over to a shattered mirror that stood in one corner. She studied her reflection with dead eyes. It had changed a lot in the past five days. Her hair was less than an inch short, her face bruised and bloodied. She favored her left leg- the right had been shot three days ago- and her left arm was broken in two places. She prodded a cut above her eye. It would leave a scar, of that she was sure.

Leah was a logical girl. Being the daughter of two doctors gave her an edge in science and math, and she had rudimentary knowledge of emergency medical care. She studied her face, her expressionless eyes. She'd need new contacts soon, but she wondered vaguely whether or not she'd still be alive to need them. The broken arm was splinted against one of her sticks, tied with some cloth and twine. She'd managed to get the bullet out of her leg before she passed out, and she'd stitched the spot up roughly when she regained consciousness- right before passing out again. She lifted her shirt, stiff with blood, and studied the bruises there. Probably sustained some internal injuries that she'd be feeling tomorrow night. But as her subconscious registered this, her mind went on to plan what came next. She'd finally gotten some information out of one of the thugs. But she'd need help to do what she was planning. Even though she should have been freezing in that abandoned apartment in the Narrows, a slow smile twisted her already warped features. Tomorrow night, she would find the Batman.


	9. Something Wicked

**A/N: **I'm so sorry for not updating sooner. I've had a lot of trouble with my schoolwork lately, and desperately needed to catch up. I hope you like this chapter. I think there are only two or three left, and you will get to see a big confrontation between Bats and the Joker. And, for all you Craniacs, he makes an appearance in this chapter.

**Chapter 9: Something Wicked**

December 11

8:02 pm. Dr. Arthur Stanford was a calm man, by nature. He was also the fourteenth person to take the position as head of Arkham Asylum since it had reopened, seven months earlier. Unlike the others, he never picked up his pace when he walked by the Scarecrow's cell, never once dropped his gaze below the madman's eyes. Jonathan Crane still believed the asylum to be his domain, and had succeeded in frightening all of his successors out of the position. The last one had jumped headfirst into the river, screaming that she was on fire. She hadn't come up for air again. Dr. Stanford was dead certain that the old director had a hidden cache of his fear toxin somewhere, and he was determined to find it. So he ignored the pleased smile that twisted Crane's face as he spoke through the glass barrier, and continued to ask him questions.

"I'll ask you again, Crane, and again and again, until you tell me," the doctor said evenly, "Where is it?"

"I'm not Jonathan Crane."

"And I won't call you Scarecrow. Where is it?"

Crane grinned, "Oh, you'll never find it. I've hidden it deep and dark and…" he trailed off, his hand started shaking, "and the bats will come out at night, flying and wheeling and screaming…" he whispered, eyes wide and no longer smug.

Dr. Stanford turned. There was no one behind him. Crane was hallucinating again. Stanford rubbed his forehead tiredly. He needed to go home and get some rest. There would be more time to try and find the "medicine" in the morning. Crane had retreated to the far corner of his cell, and was mumbling incoherently under his breath. Every few seconds, he'd reach up and swipe at something that wasn't there. Stanford distinctly thought he heard something about crows. That would make sense. Crane's profile had mentioned a fear of birds. The psychotic psychoanalyst continued to mutter and cower, and his doctor knew that he wouldn't be getting anything more out of the madman on this night. He didn't notice the shadow that dropped from the ceiling as he walked away, and attributed the subsequent scream to more hallucinating.

8:02 pm. The Joker regarded his reflection carefully. His skin was too pale and his lips too red. And, of course, there was his hair, so bright and green and brazen. He laughed, suddenly, to the surprise of the three men sitting at the table behind him. It was never a good thing when the Joker laughed, they had learned. Last time, the fourth man had ended up with a little flag sticking out of his chest, the word BANG! written in yellow and highlighted in bright purple on it. The purple had soaked up the blood, becoming darker and darker. All because it was Thursday and the Joker decided he was bored.

Jimmy Erins, a squat man with graying brown hair, turned in his seat, "Uh, hey boss?" he asked, the tremor in his voice horribly hidden behind a false smile, "What's so funny?"

The Joker turned, his inhuman grin stretched ear to ear, "Why, me, Jimmy, of course," and he laughed again. Then he stood, swinging his long legs around the stool he sat on, and strode over to the three, "We've got business tonight. There's a billionaire who's been giving too much to the poor lately," he held up a gas can, the impossible grin stretching even wider, "It's time he gave to more… deserving charities."

8:02 pm. Selina ran a hand across the calico cat's back, eliciting a delighted purr from the cat, "There's a good girl," she smiled approvingly, "You're filling out nicely."

She glanced around the room, looking at the collection of kitties lounging about the place. They always showed up en force in wintertime, taking advantage of the warmth the apartment offered. She sighed and arched her own back. The Cat was itching to get out again. It wanted to find something pretty to play with, but Selina was still reminded of Leah, looking at the room.

"_I take in strays," Leah had looked at her blankly, "I'll take you in, too."_

Maybe it had been the wrong thing to say. But Selina doubted anything she said could've prevented the disappearing act the girl had pulled. The Cat scratched at the door of her mind. It had an idea. She reached into the closet and pulled out the suit, purple leather shining dully in the fluorescent light. Two minutes later, she was wrapping her whip around her waist, belt-like, and tucking a small black pouch into it. The leather was soft and supple, moving like a part of her. And it was a part of her, after years of wear, the catsuit was wonderfully comfortable. She slipped out of a window- exiting from a door as Catwoman was downright crazy- and shimmied down a fire escape. The night was pregnant with possibility. She could find Leah, if she just looked in the right places. And, if she was lucky, she might even see the Bat again. He was fun to play with.

8:02 pm. Leah knew her body was damaged. Soon, it would be beyond repair. But she also knew that she needed to accomplish what she had come to do in the first place before she could let herself die. She was sore and bruised, not to mention pretty well cut up. If she wasn't careful, she might not make it past tonight. She needed to find the Joker soon.

The fragmented mirror watched as she pulled her black pants on carefully, avoiding the bullet hole. Her shirt, also black, was a little harder to maneuver, but she managed it. Then came the shoes, a pair of black leather boots, soft-soled, that would have been a birthday present from her mother. The ironwood eskrima sticks, from her father, fit into a black bag slung across her back. And tucked into her shirt was an onyx circle. Her brother's gift. It represented life, the never-ending cycle. She fingered it absently as she left the building, and again as she climbed a rooftop by the docks. Crime was rampant in these parts. If she was patient, she might find the man she was looking for.

8:02 pm. Batman dropped from the ceiling in front of Crane's cell, a scowl twisting his lips, "Crane," he growled, and received a scream in return. _Wonderful_, he thought, _This will take a while_. Out loud, he said, "Where is the toxin?"

Crane shuddered, huddling in the corner, "I can't tell, no, not allowed," but he shrunk away when Batman edged closer, "No!" he cried, "I can't! I can't!"

Batman paused for a moment, thinking. Crane thrived on fear. If he found out how badly someone had been affected by it, it might make it easier to question him, "There is someone who was affected by your toxin in a way that you haven't seen," he watched the doctor shift slightly. The man didn't move any more, but he'd stopped muttering. Batman continued, "She had to take a dose of the antidote every day. Then her parents were killed. It may have released another side to her…"

Crane cut him off, "Disassociate identity disorder," his blue eyes were shining, almost feverish. He no longer looked frightened, but stood shakily and walked over to the door, "Traumatic events sometimes trigger the formation of disparate ego-states, resulting in loss of memory and alternating interaction within societal parameters- emotional dysregulation." Batman listened intently. Crane was speaking in near-gibberish for anyone who didn't know about psychology, but Batman knew that he was describing the phenomenon more commonly called split personality disorder. A few psychology classes before he'd left Princeton had afforded him at least that much information. Crane continued at an erratic pace, "The two separately functioning states then proceed to degenerate into anything from mild psychosis to homicidal mania," he grinned eerily, and Batman shuddered mentally. Crane grinning was not a pretty sight.

"What can be done to reverse it?" he snarled, tired of the psycho-babble.

"Full recovery is rare, but treatment may help reduce the occurrence of psychosomatic episodes…" he trailed off, looked straight into Batman's face, and suddenly seemed to realize where he was, "Goodbye," he said simply, and proceeded to return to his corner and resume his huddled muttering.

Batman swept out of the asylum. A freezing rain had begun to fall, turning the streets to ice. The moon hid herself behind a clump of clouds, and Gotham welcomed its dark night.

**P.S. If **you are reading my Superman story, I'll try to have the next chapter up in a day or two. Minor writer's block, and major homework.


	10. Desperation is a Dangerous Game

**A/N: **I really wanted to post this in time for Halloween, but I guess that day after isn't so bad. I'm sorry it's been so long since my last update. I'll try to post the next chapter sooner.

**Disclaimer: **If I owned him, you'd be watching it in a theater, not reading it on a webpage.

**Chapter 10: Desperation is a Dangerous Game**

December 15

11:32 pm. Alfred woke up groggy, wondering how he had fallen asleep so early. He hadn't gone to bed before midnight since Master Bruce had begun his midnight escapades. He looked down at himself, and immediately that he'd listened to Master Bruce when he'd suggested a panic button, just in case someone actually put two and two together. It was unlikely, considering the increasingly idiotic behavior of the "real" Bruce Wayne, but it wasn't impossible. And as Bruce Wayne's antics grew more erratic, the Batman's actions had intensified and become more focused. In just one year, the criminal underworld had shrunk into the shadows, becoming more cautious and more protective than ever before. It was a double-edged sword. The criminals were scared, and that made them careful. They had become more reluctant to pull of crimes, but those crimes were usually well executed when they happened. Of course, there were still plenty of the oblivious ones who roamed the streets at night. And Batman could only do so much.

Alfred shrugged, attempting to adjust his position and wondered why the alarm hadn't been tripped. The man before him certainly didn't seem very clever—in fact, he seemed downright mad. The firelight danced off the purple of his suit and the green of his hair, and the bright, bright red of his lips. He spun on one leg and meandered lazily over to the struggling butler. His grin was downright macabre.

"You know," he said conversationally, "I was under the impression that butlers were very neat and orderly people. So what I can't figure out is," he laid a finger on his temple and grinned ever wider to make his point, "Why someone so responsible would leave the back door open."

"Mmmpph, mph mph," Alfred knew that it was useless to try and speak, but he was wondering what the bloody hell the madman was talking about.

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that," the Joker said, and then proceeded to break into hysterical laughter. The henchman behind him glanced around nervously, obviously wondering when his friends would return. The other two had gone in search of Mater Bruce, but Alfred knew that they wouldn't be finding the billionaire this night.

"Now, I'm going to have Jimmy here take your gag out, and you're going to tell me just what woman your employer has decided to romance tonight. Is that easy enough?" Alfred didn't answer, just watched as the henchman skirted around his boss and carefully removed the tie stuffed into his mouth.

He let out a small sigh of relief at the absence of the cloth, but he still had a lunatic with a gun in front of him, and he needed to find a way to get free and warn Master Bruce, "I am unaware of any plans Master Wayne had tonight," he said, his voice sounding almost calm. He still wasn't sure whether the lunatic knew anything, or if he had another motive for breaking into the Wayne household.

"Well, that's too bad," the Joker held up an incredibly nasty looking knife, its serrated edge coated in rust, "I guess I'll just have to… pick your brain a bit," he laughed again and began to lower the knife when something thumped in the upstairs hallway. He stood, a look of fury trying to bypass the perpetual smile. It was not a pretty picture.

"Uh, hey boss? D'you want I should go check it out?" Jimmy asked.

The Joker didn't answer for a moment, but when another thud sounded down the hall, he nodded. As Jimmy headed off into the darkness, the Joker turned to Alfred again, his brow furrowed, "Huh. I suppose we could delay for a moment," he crossed his arms and began to tap his foot impatiently, "But I wouldn't want to spoil our fun."

Alfred managed to gulp as the madman advanced, his knife aimed downwards.

11:03 pm. Batman skimmed the rooftops, adjusting his night-vision as he entered a slightly darker part of the city. The streets were relatively quiet tonight. He'd subdued three muggers and left a car thief dangling from a lamppost, but so far there was no sign of Catwoman, the Joker, or the mysterious vigilante who'd been walking the streets. It set him on edge that he didn't know where everyone was. He stopped on a rooftop and scanned the sky. The signal hadn't been lit for two days, and he wondered how long that trend would continue. Slowly, he turned to drop back down to the tumbler when a scream of pain sliced through the air. Then it became one of pure animal fury, and he swung away from the rooftop towards the sound.

When he reached the alley, he was met with a strange sight. A figure dressed in black was advancing on a man with a bloody knife in his hand. He was shaking with anger, even thought it was obvious he'd already managed to injure his attacker, who was walking awkwardly. Batman studied the figure. He was limping slightly, and held one arm stiffly at his side while the other was pressed against his collarbone where the other man had slashed him.

In a split second decision, Batman swooped down and subdued the one holding the knife. After easily knocking him unconscious, he rounded on the other, who stood stock-still. It was then that Batman realized that the other wasn't a man. He was girl.

Leah looked at him with dead eyes. Her hands were now thoroughly soaked with blood, but she didn't seem to register the fact. Now that he was closer, he could see that she'd splinted her arm against one of her eskrima sticks, and there were bullet holes in her pants. Her hair was cropped sloppily short, and there was a long cut running the length of her face. But the most startling thing about her was her eyes. They were a cold, steely gray, completely removed from the warm brown that they'd once been. He registered all of this in under a second, before she stumbled forward. She let out a soft moan and hit the ground hard, knees smacking into the concrete as she toppled over.

Batman picked her up and looked at her closely. The blood loss had been enough that she hadn't been able to stay conscious, even in her… altered state. Her face was incredibly pale, and he was afraid that it was already too late to get her to a hospital. He was about to set her back down when she drew a shuddering breath and began to cough violently. There was blood in the cough, but she was still alive. With the dying girl in his arms, he made his way back to the tumbler and sped to the only place her knew she'd get immediate care.

When he entered the cave, however. He knew immediately that something was very wrong.

**Dun dun dun… **next chapter, we find out if Alfred's okay, get a little surprise visit, and watch a showdown between Bats and the Joker. Whew! That'll be a doozy.


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